The Logic of Travel: A Maglič Story

One of the best things about road-tripping through the Balkans is that you can suddenly stumble upon a medieval fortress — the kind once built by some bona fide villain. Of course, you know absolutely nothing about it in advance and end up learning everything on the spot by simply googling it on your phone. That's exactly our style. Tour guides? Never heard of them.

And that's precisely what happened to us a couple of years ago while traveling through Serbia. We were driving along the E-761 highway toward Kraljevo when we spotted an incredibly picturesque fortress perched on a high hill. My wife, not exactly a hiking enthusiast but a devoted fan of anything medieval, said she wouldn't mind spending an hour walking up to such an impressive structure. Naturally, I was all for it (new photos!) — and stretching our legs after two hours behind the wheel sounded like a good idea.

From afar, the fortress looked fantastically medieval. At least through the lens of my camera. Because we never actually made it up there.

The Maglič Fortress — or in tourist speak, Maglič Grad, or in local folklore, Jerinin Grad — is a classic example of medieval Balkan fortification. Built in the early 13th century on a high hill and surrounded by the river as a natural defensive barrier, it stretches along the rock, following its natural shape — something, of course, you can't see from below.

We left the car by the roadside and headed down toward the river to take a closer look and mentally prepare for the uphill march.

The hill is quite imposing — over a hundred meters above the river. A stone path leads up to the fortress, and the climb would probably have taken about twenty minutes.

Along the way, we would apparently have had some cheerful companions — goats. They would have taught us how to hop across rocks, perhaps…

But first, we had to cross the river. My wife applied logic: if there's a river, there must be a bridge.

So there we were, standing where a bridge should have been… except it wasn't. As it turned out, there really had been a pedestrian suspension bridge here, but it had been swept away by spring floods a few years earlier — and since then, apparently, no one had found the resources or means to rebuild it.

The river is called the Ibar, and even in late June it was fairly rough. Because of elevation changes and frequent rains, its current remains fast and full of rapids even in summer. Its brownish color comes from this as well — the water constantly erodes clay banks and mountain rock. In short, it looked atmospheric too — very much in keeping with the medieval mood.

We shrugged — oh well. There was clearly no way to cross on foot. Walking along the bank, we found a sign advertising a ferry crossing! Free! Every two hours! Just call!

But there was no one around. And no answer to the call. My wife applied logic again and noted that tourist attractions often don't operate on Mondays. And sure enough — it was Monday. That's when I noticed the fine print: we do not work on Mondays. So, a well-timed visit. And not for the first time — on a previous trip, we had also turned off to see a fortress, only to find it closed.

Well then — not meant to be. And if it wasn't meant to be, we might as well turn to history while gazing up at the massive walls and the Serbian flag fluttering above.

No one knows for certain who built Maglič. Some sources credit one of the early Serbian kings, others his son. Even its original name is unclear: the current one comes from the word magla — fog. It frequently settles here between the hills above the river. One can imagine how mysterious — even ominous — the fortress must look in such weather.

There's also a legend that Irene Kantakouzene — known in folklore as the Damned Jerina — had a hand in its construction. She was said to be cruel, tyrannical, and fond of forcing people to build fortresses atop inaccessible cliffs. Hence the name: Jerinin Grad.

But those are legends. There are also modern facts: scenes from Ironclad: Battle for Blood — the sequel to the 2011 original — were filmed here. Rumor has it the film crew was delighted by the site's authenticity and atmosphere. And it's hard to disagree about the atmosphere (even if my photos from that hot day don't quite capture it).

Allow me a brief cinephile aside: the film itself turned out to be rather underwhelming (the first one was noticeably better, though far from a masterpiece). Still, the fact that I found myself near a filming location is enough to inspire a slight sense of awe.

And that's how it ended.

We wandered along the riverbank, admired the fortress disappearing into the clouds, and read about it on our phones. My wife said we should at least keep track of the days of the week — since we usually travel for a month or two at a time and lose track — to avoid situations like this. Well, at least I have the photos from which I've reconstructed this story today. 🏰

Thanks for reading!

Maglič, Kraljevo, Serbia.
June, 2024.
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